Tag Archive for Conflict

I am a terrible liar. When I try, I always get this red cheeked goofy expression on my face and stammer and pretty much give up. I can play poker ok. I can tell a white lie to spare someone’s feelings by giving a compliment that is based in truth. I can cover my internal emotional responses when in a professional situation. Generally, I am a functional liar in all the ways that are socially expected of humans but when it comes to just flat out lying, I suck.

For example, there was this wonderful scene Master and I had where he did a cutting on my back of geometric shapes on my shoulder blades. A day or so after the scene, I forgot all about the cutting and wore a tank top. My teenage son walked into the kitchen and said, “What’s that on your back?” He was about 18 but Master had determined that we did not speak openly about our sexual habits so I knew I was caught in a moment requiring a lie. I stammered, “It is an inkless tattoo.”

I thought that I had done very well indeed coming up with a sort of true vanilla-ish reply until my son responded with, “Who did it?” He, being the curious type, wanted to know where such a thing as an inkless tattoo parlor was so it seemed to him a fair question. At that point I panicked, unable to come up with a follow up to the half truth, pointed and Master and said, “He did.” Master then had to come up with suitable deflections as I had just completely thrown him under the bus.

Today at work this problem arose once again but for a little different reason. First it should be noted that Master and I are traveling a good bit during the next several months. Taking a little extra time off of work is part and parcel of attending and presenting at various conferences across the country. In my office, there is a calendar on my wall that shows what I am up to at work and when I am out on leave. There are three days this week marked with ‘on leave’ because Master is taking us to attend Northwest Leather Celebration in San Jose, CA. I have been giddy with excitement as I cross off days till we head out on our adventure.

My coworkers, being curious sorts, often ask me where I am going or why I am taking leave. I have no good vanilla explanations for traveling all over and when I return to work, I rarely have clear tales of my vacation time to share. This frustrates them but I am able to come up with inkless tattoo level responses and manage to be friendly without being direct.

Today one of my coworkers asked me, “When are you leaving on your big trip?” I was caught off guard and said, “Which one?” She looked at me as though I was crazy and said, “Alaska, of course.” Well at that point I was in a socially awkward bind because I clearly was planning another trip aside from the fabulous adventure that is going to Alaska. The idea that I hadn’t mentioned a whole other trip just weeks before leaving for Alaska clearly upset her. I managed to say, “Oh…uhm… we are going to San Jose this weekend, I wasn’t sure which one you meant.”

This is when the conversation got really hard. She looked at me and in an instant I knew that she was not questioning why I would go to San Jose or why I was going to Alaska. She was simply jealous that I was going anywhere at all. It was no longer the kinky part of my travel that was a social problem to be covered up, it was the embarrassment of riches in getting to travel so much that was lighting up the angry fold between her eyebrows.

How could I lie away my joy? How could I make up a tale to allay the fact that I was living a life filled with happy adventures with a husband that, strange to the vanilla world, I always spoke highly of? How could I apologize that my life is one I adore while 99% of the people I work with wander through a life they feel saddled by, doing work they don’t find fulfillment in, and living with long since estranged partners that they feel obligated to stay with? As I mentioned, I am a terrible liar and faced with this level of social awkward I did the best I could do and simply said, “I am really looking forward to it,” and walked away.

There is no way to justify when you are unacceptably happy to those around you. BDSM and M/s are not proselytizing religions. I am not called by a higher power to lead them to the ‘truth’ of better living through authenticity or submission. There is nothing I can do to make that real and possible for them because I have no way of knowing if it would even give them joy. All I could do is walk away and continue to be happy. Though I felt bad that she was jealous, what I felt afterward was not guilt but appreciation for all that my Master has provided for me. He works diligently to find ways to give me pleasure, joy, and fulfillment of all that my heart desires before I even am aware I desire it. No amount of service or surrender seems worthy of all he does for me. I wish with all my heart that the grumpy coworkers around me could feel joyful too.

“That’s it! I’ve had it. I am sick and tired of being a fetcher, cleaner, packer, carrier, washer, folder, organizer, etc! Done…over it…arrrrg”. Rant, rant, rant inside my head, bursting forth in a random diatribe. “I am sick and tired of you being lazy! You expect me to do everything. There you sit on your ass while I am rushing around doing shit for you.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. Rant some more. More of the same though the words and are switched around and ever more colorful metaphors spring to life. “You are a lump of lifeless stone while I am a grunting mindless drone working my ass off…for what?? Nothing!” Rawr! Rant, rant, rant.

Likely five minutes long felt like an hour. I was pissed off and making no polite deferring kind respectful bones about it. There sat Master looking a bit dazed. He had that sort of “WTF” expression.

Without giving him time to take a breath I blazed on, “You aren’t even going to respond? You don’t give a shit about what I as saying…why would you? This is all great for you. You get all your stuff done. You don’t have to lift a finger.”

More blank stare.

STOMP. “I am not a sla…” The rest of the word ‘slave’ left unspoken, I corrected to, “…servant!” Then I stopped short and said nothing.

There was the rub. Servant versus slave. During the week, he had been stressed out. He had checked out for a few hours that afternoon. Off I went going about doing all the things I normally do for him while he was just floating by. I had no clue what was wrong but was getting more and more pissed off with each passing moment. Finally I broke into a million ranting shards of myself. I was lost and clueless as to how to recover from the emotional swan dive.

Master sat and looked more confused now that I had stopped ranting.

I suddenly stumbled over my words. Still anger in my voice but also terrified and confused. “I hate being a maid. I wouldn’t take the job for a million dollars. I don’t like it one bit. I am just a worthless servant without meaning. I am supposed to be your slave! This is all wrong. You left me on my own, and now I am angry and want to tell you to shove it.”

He chuckled slightly. “Ok, I get that now. Calm down…it will be alright.” That last said as he grabbed a hold of me by my hair and pulled me down close to his chest. “I am sorry I left you alone. I’m here now and you are fine. Now, go and finish packing.”

At once I was feeling shaky and crying a little and very much relieved.

He had not actually left me physically alone. Instead he was emotionally disconnected. Long work weeks for both of us and too many responsibilities to vanilla life had distracted us without us even knowing it. He had left the building as surely as Elvis; I kept right on doing things he normally would have told me to do.

I did not wait. I did not get still before my Master and wait for his will. I assumed. I made myself into a worker bee instead of an owned beloved slave. Rush, rush all about I went. Doing, doing, doing…never realizing I was paddling my little canoe farther and farther away from the safety of my shore. By the time I noticed I was drowning, I was a mess.

Master towed me back into shore. He never pointed out that I was the one who had gotten me into trouble. Like a father lovingly drying off his half-drowned little girl he simply made sure I was alright and knew already the lesson was taught plainly enough by the experience.

A few years before he and I met, Master’s mother had a terrible car accident and was paralyzed from the chest down. Because of this, she used an electric wheelchair to stubbornly barrel through her life doing just exactly what she wanted to do. Master got his dominance and intensity from her. They were peas in a pod though neither of them saw it that way. Mom had chickens, love birds, and yippy dogs because she wanted to. She had a huge garden with prize winning flowers and exotic plants surrounding her home. It did not matter to her that she could not do much of the tending to any these; she just found ways to organize her health care workers into an army of animal wranglers and unintentional gardeners. She lived on her own terms.

The physical condition of someone with her injuries tends to cause a mudslide of other health issues. She was no exception to this. Over the last year, her various infections, pressure wounds, and cardiac problems began to drag her into a slow downward spiral. Master and I visited her often, he called nearly every day to check on her, and several times we went to stand vigil at the ICU when she seemed to be about to pass way.

Watching her decline and knowing she would not live long weighed on Master all the time. He had a hard time focusing on things and became a bit forgetful. He lost his centered calm way of approaching situations at work. He found himself unsure of how to handle his mother’s medical situation and somehow that left him unsure about life in general. Mastery was not at the top of the list of things that had his attention. Things slipped away. Rituals stopped. Play became less frequent. His thoughts turned increasingly inward as her condition worsened.

A few weeks ago, mom died. She went out kicking and screaming because despite the long decline she had been in and various advices that she consider hospice, she still insisted that she would get better. The night before she passed her and Master had an argument because he wanted to talk to her about dying, she was having none of it. “You just want to get rid of me,” she said. “No, no of course not Mom, I’m just trying to talk to you about what is really going on,” he tried to assure her. A plan was made for Master and I to go the next morning very early and meet with her, her primary care doctor, and her care team to get a group understanding of what was happening.

That morning we arrived before her doctor and while we waited with her for him to arrive, she suffered a ruptured aneurism. She thrashed about in pain for a few minutes, she and Master both equally confused and overwhelmed; the nurses and I understanding what was happening but with no way of comforting either of them. When the doctor walked in a few minutes later, he said she would pass within 24 hours. She never spoke again and died in less than 3 hours.

The last thing she said to Master was, “I just want you to know, this (the pain she was feeling) has never happened before, this is new.” The reason she said this was because of their disagreements about her not telling Master the whole truth about her medical situation. He had always been so frustrated when he would eventually find out she had been keeping something from him. Imagine the two most domly Doms you know each trying to run the other’s life, that was how they locked heads over her illnesses; each wanting to maintain control, each wanting to help the other with their burden, each fiery in their determination to be right.

In the end, neither of them felt in control. It was a very dark day. In the hours, days, and weeks since Master has struggled with feeling out of control of things. Her animals all needed homes, her funeral had to be arranged, her accounts and assets needed to be accounted for. What to do with her things? How to deal with her collection of dozens of ceramic statues of chickens? Each thing piling onto his shoulders and pressing him down. Sadness at her loss. Fear of doing something wrong. Wanting to honor her. All of it in a tumble has fallen hard on him.

And there I am. How does the slave find center in the Master’s storm? How does a servant support the Master when things are so grim? Months of distraction take a toll on a relationship and in a Master/slave relationship this effect is intensified. Last weekend Master and I attended South Plains Leather Fest. We had planned the trip prior to Mom passing and Master decided he wanted to go to take a break from all the hassles of managing her estate. We both hoped the weekend away would allow us time to focus on our dynamic. That did not really happen. Instead, Master did have the chance to spend time being more social. Spending time with our leather family and visiting with old and new friends in the community was great. We both had a good time but still, there I was a slave at a loss for direction.

All weekend Master would turn to me and ask questions like, “where are we going next?” and, “where do you want to eat?” He planned a scene but got tired and instead we fucked and fell asleep. There was neither Mastery nor joy in him. Both left me exhausted. I had spent the prior months quietly humming in the back ground supporting him. I took leave to visit his mom, washed her face with warm water when she was feeling down, cleaned her bottom and dressed her wounds. I cleaned his home, folded his underwear, cooked his food, sucked his cock, tried to smile and bring him laughter when he was down, lifted him in every way I knew.

During the weekend, things were amplified because of the lack of other distractions and on the ride home I was exhausted. I don’t mean exhausted physically, I mean exhausted in my emotional life. I felt sucked dry like there was nothing left in me to give. As we drove home, Master seemed to notice me for the first time that day. He said, “What are you thinking about?” Part of our dynamic is that I am to always be transparent and always answer honestly and completely any question he asks. I knew my thoughts were on this sucked dry feeling and that Master had enough stress on him, so instead of answering fully I said, “Nothing good. You aren’t in the mood for a deep conversation.” He answered, “Oh yes well I have been kind of talking about fluff,” and was distracted and began chit chatting about not much again. I was glad to have averted him and we drove another several minutes. Then he looked over at me again seeming to ‘see’ me and said, “But no really, what are you thinking?” A second time I answered without really answering and he nodded and began talking about wanting coffee or some such. After a few more minutes he turned again to me and said, “Wait, I really want to know. What are you thinking?” At this third inquiry, I answered that I was thinking that I was drained emotionally and feeling down but that I didn’t think he was up for talking about that. He assured me that he was ready to listen and so I explained how things had been for me.

I told him about the drift that had happened over the preceding months during his mother’s decline. I was not angry, wasn’t upset, or really any emotion; I was simply exhausted. I understood that all of his behavior was reasonable given the circumstance but that I had arrived at that emotional point where there felt like there was no more within to put out. Power exchange 101 it would seem but without anything flowing in eventually I had nothing left to give out. I felt empty. Master listened, really listened, and in some odd way seemed I like a man awaking from a long dream. He was surprised because he truly had not been aware of how drained he felt also. He thanked me for talking to him about it and said he would ponder how to ‘fix’ things.

The next afternoon, we went to a bank to handle some account stuff for Mom’s accounts. As we sat there, the bank associate asked what type of checks we would want. I asked what types they had and she showed me a book filled with colorful check styles. Wheee! I love pretty things and so it was fun to flip through. Master had been sort of distracted, leaving me to do most of the talking as had become his normal custom of late. I started to pick something I found pretty and he turned and said, “We will get the green checks.” Boring checks that had nothing pretty about them were not making me happy so I pouted and turned to him with a look of confusion. He said to the bank lady and to me, looking me in the eye in a direct sure way that I had not seen in months, “We will get the green checks.”

I knew the sound of my Master’s voice. It had been quieted by the storm but now I heard it. There was no grand repair plan. No apologies needed. No dramatic flourish. Simply by turning his focus back to his authority, he had infused my soul with a rush of fresh energy. As we drove away from the bank we both felt the energy flowing. Unstopping the dam was so quick and the center of my world was righted. Since that moment, there have been no more wishy-washy decisions, no more distracted, confused times. There has still been stress and sadness, but Master has his feet again and I am filled to overflowing with a sense of purpose.

People often fear failure so much that they bring failure to life. Instead of fear or failure, Master embraced his own humanity. He accepted that yes he had lost his focus and nothing about that meant he was a ‘bad Master’ or ‘a failure’. What death had parted, Master’s hand rejoined.

Everything goes along swimmingly. You are happy. He is happy. Life is good. There is stress, but that is expected. Life is bumpy and that is OK too because you know it will always land you in his bed at night at his side.

Then you notice something a little different, a little off. Not even a ‘thing’ so much as a feeling of something that is a thing that you can’t quite see. You know, like a fuzzy spot on your eyeball that darts away whenever you try to really look directly at it.

So now what? What to do? Doing nothing comes to mind. After all, you’ve already established that you expected bumps in the road so why worry right?

Then it seems like the thing is a little bigger. Hmm, well no worries. Move on, you think of your mom telling you not to pick at a scab because it will never heal. So you go on about your business doing the normal things you always do, except you find yourself less present in the moment sometimes. Not much of a shift, just a little. You know, he walks in, you greet him with the same words, with the same smile, but you don’t feel the same.

So you console yourself with classic thoughts like, “nothing stays the same, that is part of growing” and “everyone changes, it is normal.” So again, no worries… moving on. You try to think about the internal processes, the deeper places of your submission. You focus on on your positive, you do a little cognitive behavioral therapy on yourself and adjust your thoughts to be ‘more positive.’

Guess what… sigh… still it is there. Now it is getting more noticeable. It is a gap. A simple space. Light between your profiles. Something. Nothing.

This is where the the rubber meets the road. What do you do now? How do you find a new view of yourself that shows you closer to him? Quandary. Angst. Sigh. Pout when he isn’t looking.

You get distracted by his smile for a minute while you are thinking of this ominous gap that is surely growing between the two of you. You were just thinking, “How can he not feel it?” With growing anxiety you think “He is so clueless! How can he not see that I am really thinking hard about how this unknown thing is coming between us.” You really were just thinking maybe he is just a dork and thick as a board between the ears… but you got sidetracked by that damn smile.

Then the smile is followed by a kiss on the neck. You shiver. What was it you were just thinking? Something about how he doesn’t get it. Another kiss with a throaty, “Have I told you how much I want to fuck you lately?”